


If

by SweetSirius



Series: Reaching out, reining in [2]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Definite Smut, Developing Relationship, Post-Episode: s19e13 The Undiscovered Country, Probable (mild) smut, growing back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-09-13 13:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSirius/pseuds/SweetSirius
Summary: If they kept in touch. If she reached a point where she felt she could retire. If he came back. If …*Update 4 March 2019: I've inserted a new chapter 2! Just a little noodling.





	1. Emails, texts, and a walk in the woods

Dear Liv,

I know, I know. I haven’t written. I'm sorry, really. It's just that lately I’ve been trying really hard not to develop a drinking habit, and that takes up most of my morning.

I’m being glib, which is actually not how I feel. The truth is - you asked for truth - I feel heartbroken and completely untethered. I’ve spent my life believing in the law and its value. It’s never been perfect, I know that, but I could always see the ways to unlock the best outcome. And now it’s gone and there is only … me, I suppose. And I’m not handling that with the most grace. You were always the brave one. So I want you to know that I’m still here, just regrouping.

Hope you’re well.

Rafa.

 

  

 

> Dear Rafa,
> 
> I was about to start camping outside your apartment. I’m so relieved you’re all right. My friend, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I wish I knew how to help. What I do know is that one day you will feel like yourself again – of this I am certain. And if you can’t see it now then just know that I do, and I will believe it enough for the both of us.
> 
> Rafa, if there is any way I can help – no matter how big or how small – please, please ask me.
> 
> You’re wrong about one thing: you are one of the bravest people I know. You are Rafael Barba. Don’t forget that.
> 
> In the meantime, I’m here for you.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> Liv

  

Dear Liv,

I’ve been thinking of taking a vacation. I think getting out of the city for a while might help clear my head. Unfortunately, the diversions of Gestadt and St Lucia don’t hold the same attraction they once did. So I’ve done something … odd. And I hope you’re alone reading this because you’re going to laugh.

I’m going hiking.

Welcome back. Not sure how this has happened, but I’m going to hike (a very small part of) the Appalachian Trail for a few weeks. Why? A very good question, and not one I’m entirely sure I have a good answer to. It’s possible I’ve done this simply to make my cousin shut up about it; clearly his offer of “free room and board” down here in Miami had some pretty contrary fine print that included having to listen to him opine about the great outdoors.

And yet, there’s something about the solitude and the mindless physical exertion that appeals to me right now. My cousin is sorting me out with all the equipment, which looks genuinely horrific. But after all it’s never that far from civilisation if it turns out that Nature and I are not friends. I may be back in a few days.

I think I might need this.

Rafa

 

  

 

> Dear Rafa,
> 
> I wish I could say I didn’t laugh, but I couldn’t help picturing you standing in the middle of the forest, in your three-piece suit and tie, looking with disdain at all that Nature.
> 
> In all seriousness I think it’s a great idea. I have absolute faith that you will withstand every obstacle in your way, because you always do. Good luck. I hope you find the peace that you’re looking for.
> 
> Promise you’ll write or text whenever you can, or I’m going to send out a search party. Not kidding.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Liv

 

 

Liv,

So it’s day three, and Nature and I are decidedly NOT friends. It has spent the last three days kicking my ass, and I’m pleased to say I’ve left a sizeable dent in it as well.

Writing this very quickly from a rare stop in a place with phone service. Camping is _exactly_ as fun as I expected.

Rafa

 

 

Liv,

Not sure anyone thought I’d make it through an entire week, but I wouldn’t have put money on it. Which just goes to show, because here we are on day 7. The hiking is getting easier, the sleeping is not, the food may be getting worse, but it all works out, because after a while you’re so damn tired that your body stops caring.

Today I saw a rattlesnake and did not scream.

Rafa

 

 

Liv,

I can’t believe you sent me a care package. I’ve already eaten all the fruit, the muscle rub is my new best friend, and I can’t tell you how much the socks were needed. Full disclosure: I actually cried when I saw the mini scotch bottle.

You are my favourite person in the world.

Rafa

 

 

Liv,

Embarrassing breakthrough. Today I may have gotten an idea of what it is people like about this Nature business. I was resting just off the trail, leaning against a tree, when this tiny bird came down and started having a bath in a little pool of water in the moss. Then another bird came, and another. I watched this ridiculously twee, thrilling little melodrama for 20 straight minutes, and I don’t think I stopped smiling. It was the first time I felt at peace in weeks, and as soon as I surrendered to it I could feel the weight slip off my shoulders. Just a little.

Rafa

 

 

Liv,

Nature is a hard bitch. I’ve spent two days trudging through heavy rain, ankle-deep mud, and a _fucking colony_ of mosquitoes the size of cats. I’m not going to lie, I spent a bit of that time yelling: at the sky, at the legal system, at random, frightened hikers, and any listening mountain lions. You’re going to think I’m crazy – that’s certainly the prevailing judgement around here, if the looks of those hikers were anything to go by – but I think it helped. I slept better last night than I have in a long time.

If this turns into talking to trees I’m going to need you to come get me.

Rafa

 

 

Liv,

I made it.

Unfortunately, it turns out I haven’t changed that much after all, because I’m currently writing from the Fir Tree Motel, and it feels like the Four Seasons. The _bed_ , Liv. The bed is glorious. And the shower. I can’t even talk about the shower. Right at this moment I have no yearning for the woods at all. Peace and quiet can go suck it. I need sirens and angry taxi drivers ASAP.

All right, sarcasm aside, I’m glad I did this. Not to sound too millennial, but I think I found myself again. At any rate I feel like I can stand on my own two feet.

And you: thank you. Your packages and notes and texts always seemed to find me at the moments I was contemplating giving up, and because of you I kept going.

Picture of beard attached before I shave it off. Reviews welcome.

Rafa

 

 

 

> Dear Rafa,
> 
> I liked the beard! Not only was it an impressive achievement, but I was so glad to see you looking so happy beneath all that hair. I have to say though, while it looked great, I’m pleased to have my Rafa back.
> 
> I’ve been keeping Noah up to date on your adventures, and he wants to know if you ever saw a mountain lion. He also had a lot of questions about going to the bathroom in the woods, but I think I’ve covered you there. He’s been keeping me so busy, and is beginning to show an interest in helping me cook, which I know can’t last but you’d better believe I’m going to exploit anyway. We miss you, and spaghetti night remains an open invitation.
> 
> When are you back in New York?
> 
> Love,
> 
> Liv

 

 

Liv,

Truth be told I _was_ quite proud of the beard, but my mother never would have stood for it. Nice to know I’ve got it in me though. Tell Noah that I did see a mountain lion – between us, it was pretty far away, which was exactly where I wanted it, but feel free to include details of a hand-to-paw fight if you think it will impress him.

I also have to thank you for something. I know you’ve been avoiding any talk or news of work, and I’m grateful. I’m honestly not sure I could have handled it. Now, however, I’m a little less delicate (I fought a mountain lion, after all) and I want to hear from you, all about your day, and anything else you need to talk about. I know it’s taken a while, but I’m here for you now too.

So here’s the paragraph I’ve been avoiding: I can’t come back to New York just now. Ostensibly, I’m off to meet some potential clients in DC. Consultancy seems the obvious choice for now, and I have a few contacts there. I miss the city, but … to be honest I’m not sure it’s the best idea to stay in New York just now. I’ve got a lot of work to do still on Operation Put Humpty Dumpty Back Together Again.

I’m being glib again.

I’m sorry Liv. I miss you. I’m writing this all pretty abruptly because I have to get it out, but it’s kind of killing me. I’m just not ready.

But I’m still here. Please keep writing back.

Give Noah a hug from me.

Love,

Rafa

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my heart, I want to believe that Olivia and Rafael kept in touch after he left. At any rate, this is my attempt at a "fix-it". But because I seem to be fairly abstract and have no imagination, it's more or less the same squad (you'll notice a conspicuous lack of details) (I'm not sure why I'm trying to discourage you from reading this). It's a lot of connected moments, really, different from the more canonical stuff I normally write, but we'll see how it turns out.
> 
> Ratings are up for future chapters.


	2. The miles between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new chapter. Just wanted to flesh out their interaction a bit, plus I'm fighting to keep canon from drifting too far from where I hope hope HOPE it ends up going.

Olivia is reading a book. This is noteworthy enough – it’s been a long time since she had enough uninterrupted time to do something as luxurious as read for pleasure. In fact she’s enjoying it so much she’s not even really taking in the story, but that’s ok too. She’s in her bed, propped up against soft pillows, weighted down with a light quilt, and everything is quiet.

Then the phone rings.

She groans and rolls towards her bedside table, already running through her childcare plan, what she’ll say to Lucy, how she can make it up to her _again_ (Lucy’s never even implied that anything needs to be made up, but Olivia can’t help but feel guilty every time she pulls her out of bed. Paying her a lot seems to help alleviate this).

“Benson.”

“I’ve just realised what time it is. Did I wake you?”

She was so deeply sure she’d be talking to Fin that she has a moment of cognitive dissonance – the voice doesn’t match. Neither does the sentiment – Fin’s never apologised for the hour. She’s about to ask who it is when it lands.

“ _Rafael_?”

“So you haven’t forgotten me yet.” He’s joking, but he still sounds relieved.

“Of course not,” she breathes, relaxing into her cushions, her brow furrowed but her eyes twinkling. “You were the deli hand at Berlucci’s, right?”

He laughs, and she actually closes her eyes at the sound, grinning now as she feels a tension she hadn’t even noticed slipping away.

“Were you asleep?”

“No, actually. How the hell are you?”

She hears him chuckle. “Do you have a simpler question?”

She smiles, shaking her head. Still the same. “All right, _where_ are you?”

“Los Angeles, of all places.”

Literally the other side of the country. She forces a laugh. “What, you couldn’t get any further away from us?”

“I’m not a fan of Hawaii.”

His drollness actually makes her smile.

“I’m not here by choice, believe me. I’m trying to set up a network of advocacy clinics, so I have an interview tomorrow with some possible backers.”

She wonders where he would be if he had a choice.

“That sounds promising.”

He sighs down the line. “Yeah, maybe.”

There’s something about his tone that furrows her brow.

“You’re nervous,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause where she thinks he might deny it, but: “I … might be a bit gunshy.”

It gets her right in the heart to hear the vulnerability in his voice, to hear him doubting himself. It’s so far from the Rafael she knows that she sits up the better to convince him.

“Rafa, you can do this,” she says earnestly. “You’re the most annoyingly persuasive person I know. I’ve seen you flip a jury with a belt tied around your neck.”

He gives another chuckle, but it’s half-hearted. “That was a long time ago.”

She longs to reach out, to be there physically to hold his hand, reassure him of who he is at heart, how that is never going away. But this is probably one of the first times he’s put himself out in front of people since everything that happened, and she of all people knows how an event can knock you off course. She knows the dread of facing judgement from those who can never really understand.

She softens her tone. “I know. But one thing you have never lacked is passion, and that’ll convince people. You believe in this project. Tell them why.”

She hears him sigh again, but it sounds calmer, less anxious. She can hear faint noises of traffic in the background, as though he is standing by a window.

“Are you outside?

“Balcony,” he replies, and she smiles at the picture of him leaning out into the evening.

Quietly, she asks, “So how are you?”

This time he answers. “I’m ok. It’s been good to get to work on something again.”

“Well from what you said in your email it sounds like an amazing project. You never told me how you got involved though.”

“An old buddy from law school got in touch, told me he was trying to set up a rape advocacy clinic in downtown LA, asked me for some help with the legalities. The more we spoke the more it sounded like it could work in other places. Other countries even. Nico got an investor interested, so now we’re hoping to trial a spot in El Salvador.”

She can’t help smiling. “I’m so proud of you Rafa,” she says softly, hoping it doesn’t sound patronising.

On the balcony in Los Angeles, leaning on the railing into the purpling dusk with the air tousling his hair, Rafael breaks into a smile, a real one. It hasn’t happened a lot lately. He closes his eyes; only now is it obvious how much he had wanted her opinion on all this. The more involved he gets the more doubts seemed to surface. Was he kidding himself? Tilting at windmills? Or was this just a pathetic attempt to alleviate his own guilt? It might be all of those things, but it doesn’t matter if she thinks it’s worth doing.

He feels his eyes stinging a little, so clears his throat.

“So tell me how your day was.”

“Exhausting,” she exhales, and he hears the rustle of bedclothes as she sinks back into her pillows and stares at the ceiling. “On top of which Noah hasn’t exactly been a delight lately. Although it turns out the reason is not that he hates me.”

“What is the reason?”

“He’s been so bratty, acting up, talking back … turns out he’s having all these feelings worrying about who his father was, and why he doesn’t … why he doesn't have a dad …” Her voice surprises her by cracking a little on the last word.

“Liv …”

“I know, I know all the reasons I shouldn’t think this, but I can’t help worrying that I’m … not enough, somehow.”

His voice is so calm, so soft, it’s as though he’s right next to her. “You are an amazing mother, Liv. You are enough.”

Other people have told her much the same, but it hasn’t had the same impact as it does now, from him; something in his voice seems to get through to her without brooking argument from her own doubts.

“I just get afraid sometimes.”

“I know,” he says softly. His eyes close again at the pain in her voice, wishing he knew what else to say. But he knows all too well exactly the kind of fear that escapes just when you thought you had it under control.

She can almost feel his empathy down the line, and it feels so comforting not to have a barrage of advice sent her way. Her admission hangs there like a confession, just needing to be said. They are quiet for a moment. At last, she says, “I’ve missed our coffees.” _I’ve missed our talks_.

“Me too,” he said, then shifts the tone to a more animated one. “They keep trying to make me drink fancy variations; today I was asked if I’d like it with _camel milk_.”

And just like that she’s smiling again.

“Oh, that poor barista.”

“He needs to know where he’s gone wrong.”

She gives a throaty chuckle, and it stretches his own smile from ear to ear.

“You are definitely not in Kansas anymore,” she says.

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to blend in with the munchkins, but the clothing is …” she can almost hear him wince “… not desirable.”

“So what, you’re a flip-flops and hemp kinda guy? Are you wearing _shorts_ now?”

“Olivia Benson, are you asking me what I’m _wearing_?” he teases, and she laughs, a real belly laugh. (This hasn’t happened in a while, either.) He grins, enjoying the sound. “I haven’t quite gone native yet. Although,” he said as if just remembering, “I did just go out to the bodega in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“It begins. The slide into California casual.”

Now he is laughing.

“Think I’m getting homesick for the general street animosity. People here are unnervingly nice.”

“Well if you like I’ll call you before your interview and swear at you for a few minutes.”

He grins. “Now that’d be nice.”

“You’ll be amazing. Trust me.”

He nods to himself, taking her words to heart and holding them tight. “Thanks.”

And now, because she is enveloped in warmth and comfort, and her mind has been eased from the day’s stressors, and her defences are down, she says something without filtering it.

“I miss you, Rafa.”

There is a pause. Over in LA, Rafael’s eyes slip shut and a wave of relief, solace, and yes, of longing, washes over him. For a moment there is a direct line of perfect connection stretching across the miles in between, from one to the other.

“I miss you too.”

For a moment there are no defence mechanisms in play, no egos, just them.

Then he says, “Good night, Liv.”

And she says, “Good night, Rafa.”


	3. The absence of doubt

Rafael stands up and stretches, rolling his head around to work out the kinks in his neck. Juan slaps him on the back as he passes, hefting the ladder out through the empty doorway.

He looks around and decides Juan is right – it’s a job well done, and hopefully soon it’ll make a decent clinic. A far cry from the peeling ruin they had first encountered, when he had been pretty sure that all of them had wondered in unison what they were doing there. It was the thought of how easy it could have been abandoned that had made Rafael swallow his own doubt and walk straight in to start moving the rubble off the ancient furniture – it had worked, and everyone had joined in pretty quickly after that.

The thing to do, he knows now, is to cut life into manageable pieces. One step at a time.

Who says nature can’t teach you anything?

As the others are packing up and surveying the work, Rafael walks out into the garden, downing a bottle of water. It’s dark now, but the air is pleasantly warm. Even with the muffled sounds from inside, it is quiet, and feels far away from anywhere. He does what he always does at this time of day; he looks up, and lets his eyes trace the stars across the blackness. With the satisfying ache of muscles well used, and the smell of night jasmine on the warm breeze, he lets another piece of the burden fall away.

And thinks of her.

 

In the back of her head she knows exactly how long he’s been gone. When anyone asks she rounds up to three years.

The hope that had initially risen at the thought of him returning to New York has been tempered, but not surrendered entirely. That’s what being stubborn will do: harden that hope into a thin but defiant steel, and preserve it. Even now she can reach inside and find that hope when she needs it.

What she is most grateful for on the hard days, on the good days, on the days when she had nothing to do, is that they’ve never dropped out of touch. Texts, emails, a few postcards for Noah. Sometimes she senses him isolating himself, and does her best to pepper him with inane messages until he replies. He knows what she’s doing, of course, and _she knows he knows_ , but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. In the meantime they’re still talking to each other in that open, conversational style, as though they are catching up over coffee, or recuperating on the couch in her office after a tough case.

It isn’t the same, of course. It’s what there is.

Sometimes, like now, he’s out of range and she won’t hear from him for a week or two. But some days it still feels like a lifeline to turn on her laptop and find a message from him, advising, sharing, teasing. He has a way of cutting through to the core of whatever issue she is struggling with, taking it out, showing it to her, acting like it’s the easiest fix in the world. The word she’s looking for is “infuriating”.

She misses being infuriated in person.

But she’s getting on with the job, because that’s what she has always done. Because the work calls for it. Always another case, always another person to fight for, always another wrong to attempt to right. Not so long ago the idea of stopping seemed laughable – it was too important. But now … now she’s finally leaving.

After she handed in her resignation she came back to her office and spent a few moments hyperventilating at the prospect of losing a part of her identity. But it didn’t last long. She can admit now how proud she is of the work she’s done over the past few decades, the changes she’s effected. It actually doesn’t feel like admitting defeat to leave; it feels like drawing a line after a long career of wins and losses, but always after fighting battles that just needed to be fought. And she’s finally at a point where she can let that go. Which is why she was able to hand over her resignation letter in the first place. She knows why she’s leaving. Already she feels a little lighter.

It’s just that some days she misses her friend.

 

Today is a hard day. An imperfect witness combined with shaky evidence, but a hard-as-nails gut feeling that something bad had happened. She, Rollins and Carisi are still standing in front of the whiteboard like gladiators who refuse to concede. Every now and then someone offers a suggestion that one of the others has to shoot down. They’re frustrated, determined, but getting absolutely nowhere. Sighing, she looks around the office for inspiration.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

She knows that voice.

Whipping her head around, she sees him. Her eyes widen, and she breaks into a wide smile.

“Rafael.” She jogs over and wraps him in a tight hug – suddenly seeing him is just what she needed.

He’s surprised by the warmth, but grinning. “Hey Liv,” he laughs.

“Oh, I’ve _missed_ you!”

A beat. “Me too,” he says.

Only now she pulls back, still smiling. “What are you _doing_ here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Carisi and Amanda step into view, and she lets go, allowing the others to greet him.

“I …” he pulls himself out of Amanda’s hug, “am here for an interview. National Organisation for Women New York.”

Carisi shakes his hand. “Hey, that’s great!”

Amanda nods. “They could certainly use you. But what happened to California? Liv told us you guys were making some real inroads.”

“Oh we still are. I’d still be involved, just on the east coast.”

Olivia is still smiling. “Well New York’d love to have you.”

“Thanks.”

“How long are you in town?”

“A while. I’m here a few days early to go over some things and in the meantime I’ll be working out of an office here.”

“Great!” says Olivia. “Do you have time for lunch?”

He looks at her, amused by the enthusiasm. “Do _you_?”

“You know what, I do.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really.”

“For you,” she says, patting him on the arm, “I’ll take the whole hour.”

 

At the booth in Forlini’s – _their_ booth – sitting, eating, talking, laughing. He is finishing an anecdote about the work he’s been doing in El Salvador.

She smiles at him, seeing him happy. He looks at ease with himself, a little more relaxed that she remembers, but still with the essential qualities that are just … _him_. “It seems like you’re enjoying the not-for-profit sector. Who’da thunk?”

He smirks into his plate, then leans back and looks at her for a beat, smiling wryly. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving SVU.”

She nods, feeling that familiar tug of anxiety. “I _know_. Sometimes I can’t believe it myself. Not going into work every day …” she trails off, exhaling.

He’s watching her. “But you feel good about it?”

She meets his eyes, smiles, nods. “I do. It’s strange, but it just feels … right. I’ll spend more time with Noah, I …” Chewing her lip, thinking. “I’ve changed so much since I started at SVU, and I’ve loved doing it, but … I want to get out while I’m still …” she searches for the word, “… me. You know? While I still care.” She sighs, letting the weight of this confession lift off her. “And I know I’ll miss it, I will, but …”

“It’s your turn now,” he says shrewdly.

She looks at him. He’s got it. “Exactly.” She thinks for a beat. “Is that unbelievably selfish?”

He smiles. “Unbelievably.” She laughs. “You know, selfishness isn’t always a bad thing.”

She smiles and leans back, taking him in. “Have I mentioned that I’ve missed you?”

He grins. “Come on, tell me how Noah’s doing.”

“Oh, well, great! Loving school. Right now he’s in between stubborn phases, for a change. And reading _so much_. I’m starting to have to study to keep up with his questions.”

“Girlfriend?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

She rolls her eyes. “Thank god, no. He’s more interested in history for now.”

“See, I knew that copy of _A brief history of time_ wasn’t too advanced for him.”

She laughs, which is what he wanted.

 

They stroll off the elevator, still in conversation. Fin walks up with a bundle of photographs. “Hey Liv, we’ve got that video back from TARU. Sup Barba, welcome back.”

“Fin, good to see you,” says Barba, shaking his hand.

“You too. I hear you’re looking to move back east.”

“We’ll see.” To Olivia he says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

She’s looking at the tablet Fin has handed her, but stops and turns to him. “Absolutely. Hey, what are you doing for dinner? Noah and I are making burritos if –” she turns to include Fin “– anyone’s interested?”

“Sorry Liv, I’ve got Nicks tickets,” says Fin.

Olivia turns back to Rafael. “Well? Seven-thirty?”

“Sounds good. Should I bring a pizza?” She narrows her eyes at his teasing. “Kidding. _Kidding._ Burritos. Seven-thirty. See you, Fin.”

 

Dinner that night offers more opportunities for her to really look at him. He smiles more than he used to.

He tests Noah on his Spanish, declares him passable with trademark understatement, but despite the intervening years and after some initial tension on Rafael’s part (she can see how nervous he is as soon as she opens the door, and finds it touches her that he’s so concerned about his relationship with her son), the two seem to slip into a natural rapport.

When Noah leaves the table to clean up the kitchen (Olivia is sure he’s showing off his good manners for Rafael’s sake), Olivia and Rafael start talking about her case – hypothetically, at least, because it’s not quite the same as it used to be. After a while, though, she stops comparing the then with the now. It’s made easier by the utter joy and relief that their relationship, at least, seems unchanged. He challenges her, she pushes him. She teases him, he sends barbs right back at her. He reads between her words, she hears what he’s really telling her.

She’s missed this, too.

“So how are you feeling, being back?” She’s waited, tried to avoid pushing the subject, but it’s buzzing through her – why has he stayed away so long? Why come back now?

_Why come back?_

He smiles a little as he looks at his glass, turning it back and forth to catch the light. It takes him a moment to answer. “A little strange,” he admits finally. She can’t help her heart sinking at the vagueness of his answer, but then he looks up and meets her eyes. “Feels good to see you again, though.”

It shouldn’t be that easy to appease her, but it is. She decides she’ll let him get away with it this time. She’s just so damn happy that he’s here.

“I knew you’d be back some day,” she says, smirking at him.

He seems amused. “Did you?”

She nods and meets his gaze evenly. “Never doubted it.”

She thinks he understands her. That she never doubted _him_. He leans forward and clinks his glass with hers.

“Well, here’s to the absence of doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! They mean so much! I'm actually SUPER nervous about writing this fic. Mostly I want to live up to your kind words, but that's forcing me to flesh it out a little more. I hope it hangs together ok.


	4. The why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it's always been headed.

Over the next week they meet for coffee at the cart every morning before work, chatting about their work, trading advice back and forth, and falling easily into that familiarity that was so evident before he left. Occasionally one will suggest lunch or dinner. Amanda comments offhand that they’ve been hanging out a lot lately. If Olivia gets her meaning she doesn’t show it.

He doesn’t come round the precinct so much, and she guesses there are some ghosts there he’s not willing to face on a daily basis. She, at least, doesn’t seem to be one of them.

 

It’s Monday night, an awkward time for a black-tie department cocktails-and-canapes event honouring the new IAB chief. None of them really want to go, personal time being such rare fruit these days, but they have been told in no uncertain terms that they are expected to show up and be charming. Fin makes no promises.

Olivia spends a few minutes shaking hands and accepting congratulations on her retirement (she wishes 1PP would place more emphasis on discretion, but then something like this was never going to be a secret for long). This part of the night is something she likes to get done early, leaving her free to beg off with mutters of babysitting emergencies as soon as she reaches her limit.

She manages to spot Fin through the crowd and joins the squad for a few minutes of unchecked cynicism.

“You look great, Cap,” says Carisi, handing her a drink. “Approaching retirement suits you.”

“I love your dress,” says Amanda.

Olivia smiles and shakes her head. “Thank God for old styles becoming new again.” The deep purple off-the shoulder has been in her closet for years now, but it hugs her in all the right places and is always, always comfortable.

“Amen to that,” says Amanda. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s almost out, I want to call the sitter.” It’s Jessie and Callum’s first time with the new sitter, and Olivia spots the signs of a nervous mother.

She hands over her phone. “Be strong,” she whispers with a smile.

As they discuss whether Carisi could pull off the Sinatra look (Fin is doubtful), Olivia is looking around the room, not really aware of who or what she’s looking for. Carisi teases her that she won’t have to endure these kinds of shindigs after she retires, and she snaps back in without missing a beat.

“What? You’re not going to bring me as your plus one?”

The conversation carries on but Olivia’s attention drifts again, and … she’s seen him, dressed smartly (unsurprisingly) and talking to two lawyer-types with the sideways smirk that means he’s tolerating them. It’s familiar enough to make her feel like the last few years haven’t happened, and the thought makes her disoriented. But just before she’s really starting to feel weird about it, she catches a glimpse of something in his expression – it’s gone in an instant, but she’s certain she saw him looking anxious.

As he’s talking she catches his eye and he slowly breaks into a grin – a real one. She matches it, and raises her glass to him, and he nods and turns back to his colleagues, smile lingering.

There’s something that she likes very much about the fact that she can make him smile.

Amanda walks up to Olivia and sees the exchange. She hands back the phone.

“Thanks for that.”

Back in the present. “Oh, sure. Everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Amanda admits grudgingly. “I know I’m being nuts, but …”

Olivia gives her a sympathetic smile. “It’s hard to step away for a minute.”

Amanda nods. Fin and Carisi are deep in conversation, and after a moment she decides it’s time to broach the subject. She angles herself so that their own conversation can feel a bit more private. Olivia notices.

“What is it?”

Amanda hesitates, but not for long. “You know, Liv, I’m not one to pry or anything –” Olivia gives her a look that means _Uh huh?_ “– but I was talking to my friend Janey at NOW the other day, and I told her I heard she’d be getting a new colleague soon … and she said they’d created the role a week ago, specifically for Barba, at his request.”

Olivia shakes her head. “So?”

“So nothing, I guess.” Amanda is trying to lay down a hint without much success. “It’s just weird that he said he was here for an interview, that’s all.”

Olivia fixes her with a look. “I really don’t think there’s anything sinister going on.”

“No, I’m not saying there is, I just …”

“Then I wish you’d get to whatever point you’re trying to make.” Even as she says it there is something in her, some intuition that clenches, that wishes she’d left it alone.

Amanda shrugs and barrels on in. “I just wonder if this job is really the only reason he’s moving back.”

She rallies, rolls her eyes like she knew it was coming. “Look, Amanda–”

Amanda holds up her hands in surrender. “I know, I know, you’re just friends. It’s just …” She takes a deep breath, wondering if she’s overstepped, knowing it’s never stopped her before. “I don’t know, I always thought there was something between you two. You never–?”

“Of course not,” says Olivia quickly, shaking her head. “It would have – no.”

Amanda weighs up the response. “Ok …” After a moment she goes for it: “You realise you’ve barely stopped smiling since he came back?”

Olivia turns to her, taken aback. She blinks, opens and shuts her mouth. “I’ve … I mean I’ve just …”

“Liv, all I’m saying is … tell me I’m reading into it, but,” she shrugs, “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. That’s all.”

Olivia opens her mouth again to reply – but is interrupted by Carisi coming to pull Amanda to the dance floor.

She’s annoyed. She had almost been enjoying herself for a minute there.

 

She’s becoming very aware that she’s been standing there like an idiot for a few minutes now, just glaring at the dancers. At some point she is really going to have to move, or someone is going to come engage her in conversation. And her head is _far_ too full for that.

She’s working up the mental capacity to leave when someone steps up next to her.

It’s Barba. _Of course it is_. He’s looking at the dancers, shaking his head. “Ever wonder how someone who still does the chicken dance gets appointed chief of anything?”

She can’t help smiling. Suddenly she feels more like herself. “He’s lucky he’s filled out the paperwork already.”

Rafael grins, nods. Then, casually, “Care to dance?”

She’s surprised, but nods. “Sure.” She takes his proffered hand and lets him lead her to the floor. The music is slow enough to dance to together, and she steps into the frame his arms make.

“Ready?” he asks, a grin in his eyes.

She takes a breath. “Ready.”

And here’s the thing that’s obvious from the get go: _he can dance_.

“It’s strange to see you back in this world,” she says as they move to the rhythm.

“Strange to be back,” he admits.

“Like you never left?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.” He twirls them both away from a nearby couple, guiding her easily with him across the floor.

“When did you learn to dance like this?” she asks, enjoying it.

“Please,” he says with a smirk. “I’m Cuban.”

That makes her laugh. “Right.”

He relents. “Mandatory in the Barba household: dance lessons with mi abuelita.”

“Aha,” she smiles.

He responds by spinning her into a quick cross-body lead, grinning as she laughs. He twirls her away and then back into his arms, close, so they are holding each other and looking over each other’s shoulders as they sway back and forth. “Just don’t ask me to dip you,” he mutters into her ear, “I’m out of practice.”

She laughs, and leans her head against his. Out of sight, he smiles too. For a while they just move to the music, and she relaxes into him, letting herself revel in how good it feels to have him back. Back where she can see him and talk to him. Not quite like before, because he’s not the ADA, and soon she won’t even be CO. They’ll just be each other, and she’ll have to find new ways of keeping him in her life. And she’ll make sure he’s in her life. Because she feels like she’s breathing easy for the first time in a long while. Because this moment, together, feels far too good, too right to ever give up.

Which is why it’s so annoying that suddenly Amanda’s voice is in her head: _You haven’t stopped smiling since he came back._

She frowns and tries to shake off the unease: _we’re just dancing_.

Are they, though?

Maybe their bodies are a little close, maybe she’s holding on a little more tightly than she needs to, maybe his fingers are brushing lightly up and down her back … _wait_.

_I just wonder if this job is really the only reason he’s moving back._

She feels her cheeks redden but tells herself that she’s let Amanda get to her. There’s never been anything between them.

_Yes, you were very careful about that._

It’s her voice this time, not Amanda’s, and it unsettles her.

He leans back to look at her. “Everything all right?”

She’s forgotten how well he reads her, and it makes her smile despite herself. She makes a couple of false starts. He braces himself for a debate, a smile already in his eyes, but eventually she says, “Why did you come back to New York?”

He looks at her oddly. “Sorry?”

It’s clumsier than she’d like, but it’s out there now. “I mean … you said you were here for an interview, but … it’s a done deal, isn’t it? You asked to move here.”

He looks amused and confused. “Who told you that?”

“Rollins. Someone she knows at NOW.”

He rolls his eyes. “Rollins needs to mind her own business.”

“You’re not telling me everything though, are you?” She looks him in the eye. _I know you, too, remember?_  “What made you come back now?” When he doesn’t answer, she adds, “Rafa, it’s me.” At this, something in his face changes. The humour drops away and he just _looks_ at her. Once upon a time he could give her a look and she’d know immediately what he was thinking.

But he’s never looked at her quite like this.

Something instinctive swoops through her stomach. Suddenly she is very aware of him. Of her. Of her hands resting on his shoulders, of his around her waist.

The band starts a new song, louder, but they stand still, looking at each other. He takes a breath, glances at the room, and back at her.

“Come on,” he says quietly, nodding at the doors, and they walk out.

Outside the halls are filled with people filing into the ballroom, and it takes a minute to find an alcove that allows them a bit of privacy. He paces a little, formulating his defence. She watches.

He stops, looks at her. Preparing his summation. “I came here for the job,” he says evenly. She nods, a little confused. After a beat, though, still looking at her, he says, “But I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason.”

The hallway is emptying. Soon it’s quiet, except for the music drifting in from the other room.

“Liv I …” he resets, starts again. “You know, about a month ago I was in El Salvador setting up a clinic, and … it was tough, _really_ tough, a lot of loopholes to clear and the building itself needed a lot of work – securing doors and windows, knocking down walls, about a _thousand_ gallons of disinfectant. One night I was finishing up outside and feeling … really _good_ , you know? For the first time in a long while.” He looks at her briefly, and she can’t help returning his smile. “And I was looking up at the night sky and … it was so still. So clear. You’ve never seen so many stars in your life. It was beautiful.” She’s listening, wondering where he’s going with it. “And all I could think was, ‘I wish Liv was here with me.’” He smiles slightly, shrugs. Then, quietly, looking at her with those soft green eyes of his, he adds, “Turns out even 2,000 miles away I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Suddenly she needs a lot more air.

“Two weeks later I was on a plane back to New York,” he’s saying, and she makes an effort to concentrate. She watches him swallow, and he fixes her gaze. “Olivia, being your friend …” He holds his hand briefly to his heart, drops it. “… is one of the greatest honours of my life. And I don’t ever want to lose that.” Then he says, simply, “But the thing I can’t get away from is ... I want more. I want you.”

Her breath catches. Something swoops.

He holds her gaze, face bruised with concern. “I know this is a lot. I know it seems like it’s out of the blue … and this is not the way I wanted to tell you, believe me,” he says, gesturing with frustration at the empty, but still not particularly private (or romantic) hallway. “But it feels … dishonest not to.” He holds her gaze intensely, as if afraid that if he blinks, she’ll run. “Olivia you are the bravest, kindest, most incredible woman I know. That I’ve ever known. And I –”

She interrupts, her voice unintentionally husky. “Rafael, are you going to kiss me or not?”

He barely hesitates. With two steps he has closed the distance between them and put his lips to hers, kissing her ardently, deeply. Instinctively, she lifts her hands to his face, while his slide around her waist, pulling her closer. Whatever has been swooping around her stomach washes through her like a wave of heat. His mouth on hers sends a thrill right through to her fingertips.

Slowly, possibly before they’re ready, they draw back, but remain close, foreheads touching, eyes shut. She lets out something between a sigh and a laugh, and he smiles. She looks up at him, her eyes wide, wondering, while his have a fire lit behind them.

A sudden rush of people in the hall breaks the spell, but they don’t let go of each other. As the quiet returns he reaches up to brush a lock of hair from her face. “Can I take you home?”

Her eyes widen, and she can feel the heat rush to her face.

He winces. “Not exactly what I meant.”

She laughs softly and nods. “I know.” But her breath is a little shaky. Then, remembering: “Noah’s there, I–”

“That’s ok,” he murmurs. “Taking it slow might not be a bad idea.” The alternative hangs between them, dizzying in the enormity of how it makes them feel, how suddenly and significantly everything has changed.

She nods slowly. “I’ll get my coat.”

After a beat she turns to head to the cloakroom, but before she can step out into the light of the hall – “Wait,” – he catches her hand and pulls her back to him, sliding a hand through her hair and kissing her with more heat this time, more urgency. She responds in kind, clenching the front of his jacket and pulling him closer. When they part she is a little breathless, her eyes are deep and cloudy, and her stomach is doing flip-flops.

“What happened to taking it slow?” she whispers shakily as he brushes her cheek with his thumb.

He is breathless too, gives a little shake of his head. “I’m unpredictable.”

She laughs a little at that.

 

The cab ride is silent, tense, and mercifully quick. Once they reach her building they’re the only two on the elevator going up to her floor. They stand beside one another, staring straight ahead, but the air between them is charged with energy. He glances at her, but though she senses it, and a smile tugs at her mouth, she can’t look back at him.

They step out of the lift, and he follows her down the hall to her door, swallowing, like it could all fall apart at any moment. She goes in first, and with unspoken agreement he waits outside until she has touched base with Lucy. He nods to her as she passes him, barely aware of her presence, completely missing the look on her face, because Olivia is at the door now, standing back to let him in. Closing the door behind him, she twists the lock, flips the latch, and turns around to face him. In the dark, narrow hall they are close, and their eyes meet in the dim light. There is a long, charged moment between them – if either of them moved an inch or two …

She breaks the silence first. “I’ll just go check on Noah,” she says in a whisper. He nods, lets her pass.

She stands in her son’s doorway for longer than necessary – he’s fine, of course – just to catch up with herself, with what has just happened, what might happen when she goes back out there. _Slow down. Think._ This is big. Really big. Part of her still feels like it’s in shock, and the other part … isn’t. Like this has been building for days, maybe longer. Coming back to her again and again is the need she felt earlier for him to tell her he came back for _her_. She hadn’t recognised it until almost the last moment, but now it’s clear that it’s always been there, that need. When she first saw him back in the squad room, when he danced with her, when he told her about El Salvador … and when he kissed her. Her fingers drift unconsciously to her lips.

He’s in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, gripping its edge either side as if to brace himself, waiting. His tie is undone and loose around his neck. He doesn’t move as she walks in.

“Everything all right?” he asks, mostly for something to say while he watches her.

“Yeah.” She looks at him, and recognises that he’s giving her the decision over what happens next. She smiles. Then, slowly, deliberately, she walks over, stopping in front of him. He doesn’t move, waits. Heart pounding, she lifts her hand and places it on his chest. She can feel his own heartbeat beneath her palm, the heat of his skin. He’s trying to control his breathing. She gathers her courage, and leans in to put her lips to his in a long, soft kiss. When he reaches up to drag his fingers through her hair she can’t quite stop herself from letting out a muffled moan.

This time when they part the air has cleared somewhat, and she asks “Coffee?”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

From here it is easier to slip into being themselves again. With obvious exceptions. On the couch, talking quietly, they inch closer, testing the waters with a touch, a look. Eventually she’s sitting cross-legged, facing him, while he is turned towards her, his right foot still on the floor, his other leg pulled up on the couch and brushing alongside hers. He is holding her hand, playing with her fingers, running his over her skin, sliding them into her palm, relishing her touch.

“It was different, before,” he is saying. “Not that I wasn’t getting some really confusing feelings about you, but …” She smiles. “Working together–”

“Is tricky,” she finishes. He looks up at her, and she knows he knows. “So you never thought about it?”

“Oh I _thought_ about it,” he grins, and she laughs. “But I’m _very_ good at compartmentalising my life. And the job …” he shakes his head, watching her play with his fingers. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Did you ever … think about it?”

“Nope,” she says, with such finality that he can’t help laughing. “Like you said, it’s the job. It’s too important. It’s why I ended things with Tucker, with Cassidy. And there’s Noah. I didn’t have anything left for … anything. So I never let myself think about it.”

He hears the undertones to what she’s saying, and nods.

“But when you walked into SVU the other day … it hit me how much I’d missed you. Missed us.” She shakes her head. “It rocked me a little.”

He smiles at that. He likes that he’s rocked her.

“And then tonight Amanda said …” she trails off, laughing at herself.

He wants to know, though. Tilts his head. “What?”

She meets his gaze, a little embarrassed. “She said she hadn’t seen me this happy in a long time.”

He’s smiling now, looking at her with a little wonder in his eyes. “Really.”

She nods. He reaches out and brushes her hair from her face, sliding his hand around her cheek and leaning forward to kiss her again. She shifts herself closer, uncrossing one leg to move it along the back of the couch and behind him, so that she is almost sitting in his lap. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, slides a hand along her thigh, and she hums at his touch. After a long moment they part, and she breathes out slowly as he raises his chin and rests his lips on her forehead. “So,” she murmurs, “what now?”

“Now?” His voice is gravelly, muffled against her hair. It’s doing things to her. Leaning back, he meets her gaze. “Whatever you want.”

There is another moment of charged silence. He grins to break it.

“But it’s late, I’d better be going.”

It _is_ late. She hadn’t realised. She looks at him, nods. He stands and she follows him to the door, which she unlatches. He turns back to face her. “See you tomorrow?”

So much could happen now. She could latch the door again.

But it’s late, and they both know better.

She nods. “Tomorrow.” Before he goes he leans in and kisses her once, slowly. It’s not as much as he’d like to leave her with, but if he’s going to leave at all it can’t be any more. He rests his forehead against hers again, takes a deep breath and turns and walks away without looking back, as if he’s worried he’ll lose his nerve and stay.

She closes the door, locks it, latches it. Leans against it. Closes her eyes. And smiles.

 

In the Uber home he can’t stop grinning.

 _Are you going to kiss me or not_?

It might be the sexiest thing that anyone’s ever said to anyone in the history of the world. It might just be that he’s incredibly into her.

To be honest it’s just as well they are already deep in traffic, or he’d ask the driver to turn around. As it is he’s fighting a constant urge to jump out and run back to her apartment and …

What, exactly? Kiss her senseless? Bury his face in her hair? Pull her into his arms and never let go?

All of the above sound great, if slightly impractical. And he needs to keep some sense of practicality right now.

Coming back he hadn’t had a plan _as such_ , just the one, blazing certainty that he wanted to be with her, wherever that was. It had been so easy to become _them_ again, but that certainty was still there, urging him to do more, be more. And so he’d started looking for ways he could fit into her life, whether something like that was even possible. Over the last few weeks he’d spent more and more time with her and Noah, and more and more he was hit with those brief pockets of feeling that said “home”.

Dancing with her had been a dangerous idea from the outset, and if it hadn’t been for the way she’d smiled at him across the room, or the way she looked in that dress, or the way she was just always _her_ , he might have decided differently. Possibly. Possibly not. Because once she was in his arms, that blazing certainty had hit him again: _this_ was what he wanted. _She_ was what he wanted, all of her. Maybe he’d let his guard down a little too much, maybe that’s what had made her suspicious, made her pull at that thread. And yet … as terrifying as the moment had been, it was hard to regret any of it. Not now, not after she’d kissed him back.

He actually lets out a bark of laughter, earning a look from the driver. It doesn’t matter. It couldn’t possibly matter less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
> 1\. Three years was the longest I could wait and the shortest amount of time in which I could see Liv retiring. I'm bummed too, guys.  
> 2\. As everyone knows, there's nothing sexier than a man who can dance, so this was inevitable.  
> 3\. I've taken a while stab at Rollins's new baby's name. We'll see if I'm psychic.


	5. The same, but different

He’s waiting at the coffee cart. Definitely not nervous. Definitely not wondering why she’s late. He turns, and sees her walking hurriedly up to him. Definitely not letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I had to drop in at Cassie’s before the trial. She’s been kicked out of housing, and she’s sleeping on her friend’s couch until …” She stops, takes a deep breath, centres. He watches her, amused. She looks up at him properly and smiles. He hands her a coffee cup, and she takes it. “Thanks.” They start walking

There’s a beat in which last night opens up between them.

“So …” he begins.

“Last night,” she finishes.

He grins. “Oh, you remembered?”

She laughs. “It’s … not the sort of thing I’d forget in a hurry.”

He’s pleased with that, and with the smile on her face. They reach the place where they normally head in separate directions. “I wish we had time to talk properly …”

“Me too,” she says. They look at each other for a moment, smiles tugging at the corners of both their mouths.

“Can you meet for lunch today?”

“I think so. Trial breaks at one. Meet you at the courthouse?”

He hesitates. “Actually, how about I meet you at Forlini’s?” He tries to pass this off as nonchalant, but it doesn’t stand up under her gaze. “Sorry, I just … don’t think that going back in there is–”

She stops him. “It’s ok.”

He lets out a sigh, and meets her eyes. “I’m fine, I just … don’t want the reminder today.”

She nods and reaches out to touch his upper arm gently. “It’s ok,” she says again, softly. He automatically lifts his hand to her outstretched arm, and even beneath her coat she can feel his warmth. They hold each other’s gazes for a moment. “One o’clock,” she says, smiling.

He smiles back, and after a beat her phone starts to ring and he lets go. She takes it out and checks the screen. “I’ve got to take this …”

“I’ll see you later,” he says, waving and turning down his street. She watches him go as she listens to the caller. Maybe a little longer than necessary.

 

He’s working while he waits, but his eyes light up as she sits down.

“Hey you.”

“Hey you,” she shoots back with a smile. She’s a bit energised, and he notices.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“Cassie did great. It’s a strong case. Even without the perfect ADA.”

He smirks, pushes a plate of sandwiches towards her. “Have long?”

She takes a sandwich. “About twenty minutes, I’ve got a meeting back at the office with the new commissioner.” She smiles. “But I can run a little late.”

He chuckles. “Liv …”

“What’re they gonna do? Fire me?”

He watches her, smiling his usual smile, but there’s something more intimate in it now. Now he takes his time looking at her. Now his eyes run languidly over her features, not darting away when she catches his gaze.

But there’s something else, something he’s not saying. She raises a questioning eyebrow. “What?”

She sees him hesitate. Then, “I’ve got to go to DC tonight.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

He looks apologetic, hates to ruin her playful mood. “It’s just come up. I tried to get out of it but–”

“No, it’s fine, of course.” But she looks a little dismayed and so does he. Neither of them wanted to interrupt this momentum. “How long?”

“I should be back sometime Saturday.” Four days from now.

“Ok, so …” she begins pragmatically. “Saturday.”

He hesitates. “Do me a favour …”

“Sure.”

He looks at her in that steady way of his. “Don’t overthink it?”

But it’s not a quip. He’s not being clever, or playful, just … open. It takes her aback a little. “I’ll try not to,” she says softly.

He straightens up, back to banter. “At least until I get back, and I can persuade you that this whole thing isn’t so crazy.”

She’s smiling now. “Well, you are pretty persuasive.”

 

Wednesday texts:

 **O Benson** : How’s DC?

_**R Barba** : Very clean, for a swamp. Warm welcome from my counterpart here. He’ll learn._

**O Benson** : Hope you’re playing nice.

_**R Barba** : Always … U thinking?_

**O Benson** : Yup. Not over, not under. Just most of the time.

_**R Barba** : Ditto._

**O Benson** : Missing our coffees, too.

_**R Barba** : Missing everything._

_**R Barba** : Scaring you off?_

**O Benson** : I don’t scare that easy.

 

It’s Thursday afternoon, and she’s in her office, finalising case files and signing off. Her phone rings and she grabs it.

“Benson.”

“Hello yourself.”

Immediately her face breaks into a smile. “Hey.” She glances up to see if anyone’s out in the bullpen, goes to close the door. “How’s our nation’s capital?”

“It’s nice, what I’ve seen of it. Which admittedly isn’t much.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” She frowns, listening to the background noise, which is taken over for a moment by a call over a PA system. “Are you … at the airport?”

He is, and he’s smiling too. “Things here wrapped up a little early. I should be in New York in a couple of hours.”

She is unabashedly, uncollectedly glad about this, though she tries to sound more composed. “Really.”

He can hear it in her voice anyway. “Got time for a drink after work?”

She grins.

 

He’s already at Forlini’s when she walks in, and even from a distance she can see him light up as he catches sight of her. As she approaches he turns to take her in, and she sees his eyes raking over her with an almost roguish gleam. It’s enough to send the blood rushing to her face.

It’s too awkward to hug in the crowded space, so instead of wrapping her arms around him and breathing in that scent that’s just him (which she’s apparently noticed more than she realised), she settles for a wide smile and the seat next to him at the bar.

“Welcome home,” she says, nodding at the bartender for a glass of wine.

He’s still watching her, still with that smile on his face. “It’s good to be back.”

They drink, he catches her up on his trip and she does the same with work. She teases him, he makes her laugh. It’s almost like old times. But she’s edgy, jumpy – nervous? When he reaches for the pretzels he accidentally brushes her fingers, and she actually feels herself tense, drawing in a sharp breath. She looks up to see him looking at her; they are closer than she realised, and she can see gold flecks in his eyes, or maybe they’re just reflections off the bar. It’s only a moment, really, before the sound comes rushing back in, but it hangs there longer than a few seconds should allow. He swallows, and sits back, tossing a pretzel into his mouth and resuming conversation.

 

Not too much, he’s walking her home from the bar, and she’s talking through some of her ideas for retirement.

“I thought maybe some consulting – I’ve already been approached by a few big names, including the NYPD – and NOW, for that matter.”

“Not surprising.”

“But more permanently I thought I could do something for the victims, start an advocacy group, maybe give some lectures at schools and college campuses.”

“So this retirement is more of a symbolic gesture,” he says with a smirk.

She laughs. “I think I always knew it was too big a part of me to let go completely. At least for a while.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She notices that he’s looking at her as they walk, and shows no signs of wanting to look away. She feels her face flush and drops her gaze.

When they reach her building she stops, turns to him. Tries to sound casual. “Did you want to come up for coffee? Noah’ll be up for another hour or so …”

He looks up at the building, hesitating, because of course he wants to. But … “I’d love to, but I’ve got to finish up a few things before tomorrow.” He shrugs. “Price I paid for coming back early.”

“Well,” she says, “I’m glad you did.”

He’s got that look on his face again, like he’s savouring every word. Smiling like he knows something she doesn’t. But all he says is, “Good.”

Suddenly it seems imperative that she touch him somehow, break this deadlock. She takes a deep breath, and reaches out to take his hand, brushing her thumb over his warm skin. The emotive punch packed by this simple gesture takes her a little aback.

“Rafa …”

He looks up at her, taking in her face, her smile, and then, unhurried, he steps in and kisses her. He takes his time, lingering and deep, sliding his fingers into her hair and pulling her gently towards him. Her hands are on the lapels of his coat, holding him close. On parting, he keeps his hand on her cheek, and briefly brushes his thumb over her lips. He smiles a little as she breathes a deep breath.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, and she smiles. After another beat he lets her go and steps back. “I’d better go,” he says, looking like he’d rather do anything but. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

She nods. “Goodnight.” She takes a moment before she turns away and heads inside. At the top of the steps she stops, glances back at him, watching her. She exhales, and goes inside.

He stands there for a moment after she’s gone.

 

Once inside the apartment she closes the door and leans back against it. It’s the first time they’ve kissed since that first night, and it surprises her how much power is there, still. The same swooping feeling in her chest, the same thrill washing through her body. It seems ridiculous that only a week ago they had just been friends.

 _Just_. Well, not exactly.

 _Of course_ she’d thought about it, but never for more than a few seconds. Experience had taught her that getting involved with co-workers was a bad idea, and she had an automatic instinct to avoid it happening again. But the way she and Rafael had been able to read each other was something different. The way they would confide in each other belonged to a much deeper friendship. And they’d had their share of intimate moments, not the least of which had been those two nights after Noah had returned. In such extreme circumstances, propriety and protocol hadn’t seemed important, and it had been a bit of a revelation how much comfort she had derived from his closeness. At the very least it had provided a glimpse of what lay beyond that boundary of professionalism between them.

And what about him? Had he wanted more then? She thought not, at least in the same way that she hadn’t – the question had still been too volatile to really acknowledge. And so they’d pushed each other and supported each other and fought each other while keeping any flirting securely in the subconscious. Any wayward slips of concentration were smothered with excuses: the work was too important; the relationship between them, both professional and personal, had meant too much; she honestly didn’t have room for anything serious in her life, and neither did he. All these were completely valid, but had really been so much beating about the bush, because she had never really asked herself how she had _felt_ about him.

But now …

She’s still leaning back against the front door, the memory of his lips on hers still echoing. _Good grief, he can kiss_ , she thinks. Just as quickly she rolls her eyes: she’s a grown woman, for heaven’s sake. But then there’s not much point in denying it. Suddenly his touch is sending warmth rushing through her, and things are waking up all over the place.

The funny thing is she gets the feeling that he’s still holding back his feelings, that these brief, intense moments of passion are him reaching out and reining in at the same time. Despite how much has changed between them, there is still more under the surface than he’s showing her, a lot more. The thought makes her shiver.

Even thinking this way is scary – this is _Rafa_ – but the barrier has been lifted, and with the possibility out there, it’s difficult to deny that she is leaning into this. Hard.

 _Oh, Olivia_ , she thinks. _You’re in trouble_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still blown away by all your lovely responses!


	6. Combustion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smutlingtons.

He’s walking down the corridors at work, talking with a colleague, when he gets the text. Seeing who it’s from, he tells them he’ll see them in the meeting and stops to read it.

_Want to come over for dinner tonight?_

He remembers exactly none of the meeting.

 

She pulls the door open almost as soon as he’s finished knocking.

“Hi,” he says, raising his eyebrows with a smile. There’s something tense, almost jumpy about her body language, and she seems almost nervous. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on, but he’s sure as hell not going to miss it.

“Hi,” she says, standing aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

He walks into the apartment, proffers a bottle of wine. “I wasn’t sure if –”

“Noah’s at a sleepover,” she blurts out, and both of them freeze.

There is a beat as her meaning echoes through the silence.

They are alone.

“Ok …” he says at length. _Jesus_. He slowly puts the wine on the coffee table.

She rubs her forehead, annoyed, embarrassed, but moving through it. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I’m not …” She laughs a little at herself, admits, “I’m not good at this …”

Before he can stop himself, he says, “Yeah, you are.”

Her eyes snap up to meet his, and something electric passes between them. He takes a deep breath and takes a step towards her, forcing himself to appear calm. “Liv …”

She lets out a breathy laugh, admitting, half-joking, “This is ridiculous. Why am I so nervous? I’m too old to be nervous.”

He takes another step, smiles slightly. “I know how you feel.”

“Are you kidding me?” she laughs. “Look at you! You’re so calm.”

“Yeah, the thing about that is …” (one more step) “… I’ve spent years cultivating a very good poker face.” He’s close now, close enough to touch her, and with a jolt she sees his body is quivering slightly. “Liv,” he says softly, waiting until she meets his gaze, “you know nothing has to happen.”

She knows it. She knows that if she asks he will step back again. They will have dinner and talk and leave this decision for another day, and everything will be fine.

She doesn’t want fine.

Swallowing, she reaches up slowly and brushes his hair with her fingertips. His eyes slip shut at her touch, and that gives her a rush of confidence. “I know,” she whispers. “But I want this.”

And suddenly he’s kissing her deeply and urgently, and she’s responding in kind, and their hands are everywhere, all at once. And he’s backing her towards her room, or she’s pulling him, and she’s sliding the coat off his shoulders. His lips move to her neck and – she can’t help it – she lets out a soft moan and he smiles against her skin. She slides her hands under his sweater, spreading her fingers up his back, relishing the touch of him. His lips finds hers again before he tugs her shirt over her head. There’s a brief pause as he runs his eyes over her, and she recognises the want in his eyes because it’s just what she’s feeling.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, green eyes blazing, and any chance that she would feel self-conscious is gone.

She hooks her finger into the neck of his sweater, pulling him back to her. And they’re kissing again, and he’s slowly, gracefully, backing her onto the bed. Together they remove his sweater. Trying to slow her breathing, she takes in his body, knows privately that she has already imagined it, runs her fingertips down his chest and stomach. He waits a beat and leans down again to meet her mouth with his.

Later she remembers it as if he was talking to her through his body. _This is how I feel about you_ , his lips said, _this is how you make me feel_ , said his racing heart. _And this_ , said his hands _, this is how I want you to feel_.

When he enters her, he has to take a minute to calm himself. She murmurs his name and slides her fingers into his hair, which doesn’t exactly help, but he’s not about to tell her to stop. Then he drops his lips to her neck and, slowly, starts to move with her.

She lets her own body respond, arching towards him, holding him tight to her. Her hands keep running over his skin, like she’s been waiting to touch him, to memorise his body, his muscles, his heartbeat. And when he tips her over the edge he follows right behind.

As their breathing slowly eases, he lies on top of her, propped up on his forearms, his forehead resting on hers, waves still crashing, bodies still entwined. She buries her fingers in his hair, brushes her nose against his, regaining her gravity. He murmurs something in Spanish – she smiles as she catches the word “ _Dios_ ”. After a while he raises his head and kisses her softly. He rolls off onto the bed and she turns on her side to face him. He does the same, and reaches out to play with her fingers.

“I don’t want to be the guy who has to review everything,” he says after a while, “but that was …”

She lets out a breathy laugh and nods, still coming into focus. “Something else,” she finishes. She looks at him, in her eyes an expression of wonder. Has this, the possibility of _this_ , really been there between them all this time?

Of course, he notices. “What?”

“Just wondering what I did right in a past life.”

He grins, still playing with her fingers. “You and me both.”

After a long moment, she realises. “Are you hungry?”

He, too, remembers they never got to dinner. “I could eat.”

He manages not to laugh when he finds out she never cooked anything.

 

Pizza in bed. He’s teasing her.

“So what’d you do with Noah, tell him to go play in the street?”

She laughs. “He’s having a sleepover with Jessie and Amanda. So, you know, who knows?”

That makes him laugh, and she’s pleased. She lets her gaze drift over him, clad in just his boxers, recalling vividly how just a little while ago those strong arms were wrapped around her, that he had been inside her, and she had cried out his name –

“What?”

She snaps up to look at his face. He’s been watching her. She’s going to have to remember how quick he is.

Shaking her head with a closed-lipped smile, she says, “I was just thinking this feels … good.”

He’s smirking at her again, and his eyes are laughing. “‘Good’?”

She rolls her eyes with a grin. “You want adjectives?” she asks, and he shrugs. She crawls slowly over to him and kisses him on the cheek, neck, lips in time with each word. “How about amazing. Electrifying. Safe.”

That gets an eyebrow raise. “Safe,” he repeats. Not too sure about that.

“Not like that. More like …” She sits back as she searches for a suitable explanation. “Like I’ve just jumped out of a plane. And I’m falling. But … you’re holding my hand. And I know that you’re not going to let go.”

He looks at her for a long time. Then he wipes his mouth with a napkin, picks up the pizza box. “Ok,” he says, dropping it over the side of the bed and moving towards her. “Now that was a good answer.”

She’s laughing when he kisses her again, and they tumble back onto the sheets.

 

It takes a long time for them to catch their breaths this time. Lying next to each other, staring at the ceiling … her hands are still gripping the bedclothes tight, his chest is heaving.

He breathes: “Wow.”

_Less careful this time, but at first even slower, achingly so. Every time she rocked her hips up towards him it drew a moan from him, deep in his throat. She had nipped at his ear and whispered his name, and that had made his whole body tremble. A heroic amount of self-control, however, had pulled his senses back just enough, and he’d gathered her closer, taking her exactly where he wanted, and the first time she came she was laughing, and he almost told her right then and there that he loved her._

_The second time, neither of them had the breath to laugh._

Back in the present, he exhales again: “Wow.”

She nods, speechless. He turns his head to look at her, and she does the same – both are wide eyed, a little dazed. A breathless laugh escapes her, and he chuckles. She turns back to the ceiling, still laughing, but her mirth morphs slowly into raw emotion – mortified, she feels her eyes prickling and squeezes them shut, covering her mouth and bracing against this release. But he hears the catch in her breath and looks at her.

“Hey,” he turns immediately towards her, face full of concern, and reaches out to brush a rogue tear from her cheek. “What is it?”

She shakes her head, smiling despite herself. “I’m ok, I promise.” But with her next breath a sob catches her off guard and her shoulders start to shake as she covers her face with her hands.

He has his arms around her in a second, holding her close to him and brushing her hair soothingly, whispering softly and over and over, “ _Est_ _á bien_ , it’s ok.”

Soon her breathing evens out. He loosens his hold a little and kisses her forehead softly. She nods and he pulls back to look at her.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks with a small smile, his face still awash with concern.

“I’m so sorry. It’s stupid.” He just shakes his head. She takes a deep breath. “I’ve just … I haven’t felt this in a long time.” _I honestly wasn’t sure I could_.

Even in the dark she can see his eyes widen, sense his intake of breath. “Me neither,” he admits softly. He looks at her for a long moment, searching her face, brow furrowing, thinking. After a while he begins, with difficulty, “Do you need me to–”

“No, don’t go.” She cuts him off, reaching up to rest her hand on his cheek. He shuts his eyes and leans instinctively into her touch. Then he takes her hand with his, bringing it to his lips, kissing the backs of her fingers. She watches for a moment, transfixed, as his smile reaches his eyes, making her follow suit. She shifts towards him and he drops onto his back as she nestles herself in beside him, hand still in his and resting on his chest.

They lay in silence, listening to each other’s breathing, to the words unspoken, letting themselves drift off into sleep.

 

Morning. He’s lying on his back, asleep. She’s on her stomach, head turned towards him, dark hair spilling across the pillow.

He wakes first.

Clocking the room, he turns his head gently to look at her, lets his gaze drift over her sleeping face, her bare back, her dark hair. Makes notes. Flashes of the night before darken his eyes, but he doesn’t move, preferring to just take her in, privately, indulge a little.

But he’s also used to thinking ahead, and so eventually he shifts to look at the clock on the bedside table. Eight thirty. Turning back to her, he hesitates a moment and sighs.

“Liv,” he murmurs, reaching out to place a palm on her back, brushing his thumb along her skin. “Wake up.”

She makes a contented little sound, deep in her throat. He smiles, but carries on.

“Wake up, Liv.”

Slowly she opens her eyes, blinks. Sees him. Slowly, as if her consciousness is still waking up, she smiles.

“Hey you.”

“It’s eight-thirty,” he says gently.

He can almost see her brain processing. Morning. Noah. She rolls onto her side. “Right …”

“How long do we have?” he murmurs, eyes drifting over her face.

She smiles, enjoying this. “We have a little time.”

His eyes meet hers now. “Good,” he says, and, taking her hand in his, moves her onto her back and kisses her gently on the mouth. Instead of letting her kiss him back, however, he moves downwards, kissing her neck, her chest, her stomach.

She feels a thrill shoot up inside her with the anticipation of what he’s doing, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and trying not to lose herself too quickly. But as he moves further down she can’t stop a moan from escaping, and she reaches one hand down to slide her fingers into his hair, massaging in time with his mouth on her.

The room blurs and the air gets heavy, and without much prompting he has her cresting and crying out. This seems to wake her up, though, and in a few deft movements she pulls him onto the bed and is astride him. He sits up to hold her, and they kiss as she moves onto him. She is in control this time, and he can feel his restraint slipping away. A little too easily.

“Liv,” he breathes shakily. “If you keep doing that … I’m not going to be able to hold on.”

She smiles to herself, leans in so that her lips are brushing his ear, and whispers, “Let go, Rafa.”

He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite, quite nervous about writing this one, but it's where they wanted to go, and who am I to stand in the way of that?


	7. Collision

It’s nine o’clock.

“We should get moving,” he suggests, running his fingertips up and down her arm.

She nods. “You take the first shower.”

“You sure?”

“Mm hm.” She wants him fully dressed before Noah comes back.

He drops a quick kiss on her forehead and heads for the bathroom, leaving her to her thoughts, which is an added bonus.

Breathing a deep sigh, she stretches. She gets up, pulls on an overlarge t-shirt that serves as pyjamas and gathers up the clothes strewn about the room, bundling his together and leaving them by the bathroom door. She listens for a moment to the water running and smiles to herself.

 

He’s in the living room tying his shoelaces when there’s a knock at the front door. He freezes a moment, looks back towards where Olivia is showering, stops himself from calling out to her. How to be discreet in a moment like this?

In the shower, Olivia hears the knocking and shuts off the water, heart racing.

Outside, Amanda pounds on the doors some more. “Liv? It’s me. I’m sorry, I know I’m a little early, I forgot I had to take Jessie to a birthday party, and –”

The door opens and she stumbles to a halt, stares at him. He’s bracing himself when Noah runs in and launches himself into his arms.

“Uncle Rafa!” Rafael can’t help smiling as he swings Noah around in a hug, taking the excuse to look away from Amanda’s gaping stare. Noah giggles as he spins around, happy to see him.

“Hey, amigo. Cómo estás?” He sets him down and bends to meet his young friend’s eyes.

“Bastanta bueno.”

“Bueno? Good.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I … thought I’d see if you and your mom wanted to get waffles.”

“Yesss! With ice cream?”

“Absolutely not. Maybe. Now go unpack.” Noah and Jessie run off into his room.

Amanda’s still staring, but as he straightens up he sees her look pointedly at his untied shoelaces, then back up at him. “Waffles, huh?”

He gets it, but keeps his face innocent. “Mm?”

“Just got here?”

He glares. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, I can wait a minute or two,” she says, enjoying this thoroughly.

“Amanda!” Olivia rushes into the room, fully dressed and showing no signs of not having been so. “Thanks so much for taking him. I hope he wasn’t any trouble.”

“Oh no, it was _no_ trouble,” says Amanda, grinning. “ _Any_ time.” This elicits another glare from Barba. “Jessie! It’s time to go!”

Jessie runs out to her mother and Noah follows. “Are we going to get waffles with Rafa?”

Amanda practically beams at Barba.

Olivia hesitates for the briefest of moments. “Oh? I … I don’t think so honey, we’ve got a lot of errands to run this morning.”

“But–”

“Just, go and unpack your things, sweetie, I’ll be in in a minute.” She turns to Amanda. “Thanks again.”

Amanda takes this as a dismissal and leaves, fixing Barba with a sly look. He’s a little distracted, though, and once the doors are shut there’s a moment of quiet.

“Errands?” he asks mildly. He’s trying hard to keep from sounding accusative, but his expression is one of confusion.

Olivia, on the other hand, is growing more composed by the minute, and starts picking up Noah’s coat and other detritus he’s dumped on the floor. “Uh, yeah. Just a few things we need to get done.”

Watching her carefully, he can feel the intimacy slipping away. “Ok.”

“And, uh … listen.” She drops her voice. “We should probably take some time over the weekend … to think, you know. Get a bit of perspective.”

“Perspective.”

Her reply is light. “Yeah.”

He’s frowning now. “Liv, don’t do this.”

“Do what?” she asks brightly, and he winces.

“Run.” She scoffs, while he shrugs, agitated. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m just saying I need a bit of–”

“Perspective, right.” He’s the one scoffing now.

“Excuse me for being the rational one here.”

“This is you being rational?”

She narrows her eyes, the anger rising easily. “Look, I’m sorry if you thought I was going to just put my life on hold as soon as you decided to waltz back in–”

His eyes are wide. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

She steamrolls on, her voice low and angry. “Noah is my priority, all right? Noah is _always_ going to be my priority. And if you don’t _get_ that, then–”

“Hey, I have _zero_ problem with that, you know that.” Their whispered argument is getting heated, and he pauses to try to rein it back. “Liv … this is not nothing.” He gestures back towards the bedroom. “Ok, _that_ was not nothing.” She doesn’t answer, but has trouble meeting his eye, and a thrill of fear runs through him, like’s he’s just pulled at a thread he shouldn’t have. He swallows, takes a breath. “Olivia, don’t do this,” he says, softly. “Please.”

She exhales. “Just … give me a couple of days,” she finishes quietly.

He looks at her for a long moment, anguished, but ultimately nods. “Of course,” he says, sounding colder than he means to. “Take all the time you need.” He straightens up, giving her one last look before he opens the door and leaves quickly, letting it slam behind him.

She stands there in the silence, breathing in, breathing out.

 

Later Olivia calls Amanda. “I just wanted to say thanks again for taking Noah last night, I know it was short notice.”

“It’s no problem.” There’s a pause as Amanda tries not to say anything. “So how was _your_ evening?” It’s so false that they both know the jig is up.

Olivia sighs. “So you know.”

“Well, it’s not exactly –”

“Rocket science, right.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “This is what I was afraid of. Do me a favour and don’t tell any of the guys? I’m just not sure if it’s anything, or if … I want it to be anything yet.”

Amanda laughs sceptically. “C’mon, Liv.”

“What?”

“He spent the night. It’s already something.”

“That … shouldn’t have happened.”

Amanda’s surprise comes down the phone. “Shouldn’t it?”

There is a pause from Olivia. “I don’t mean … it’s complicated.”

“What is it, you’re worried about Noah?”

“Of course I am. This morning was a colossal mistake, I should never have let it happen, and I’m not about to–”

“I’m sorry, Liv, but what the hell are you doing?”

“Excuse me?”

Amanda takes a deep breath. “Look, this morning was a little awkward, all right, I’ll give you that, but … Noah loves Barba, you’ve said so yourself. You’re really going to use one uncomfortable moment as an excuse to end it? This is _Barba_ , Liv, not some guy.”

“It’s not that simple,” Olivia offers, but it’s a weak response and she knows it.

“All due respect, sometimes it is. What is really standing in your way here? You obviously really like him. He’s _crazy_ about you. Don’t do this.”

Olivia smiles despite herself. “That’s exactly what he said.”

“Well. He’s a pretty smart guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time. So very grateful for all your kudos and comments.


	8. The things that change us

Epiphanies aren’t always lightning bolts. Sometimes they’re small, simple. Things you can’t believe you haven’t realised until now.

So here’s the thing she realises as she stares into the bathroom mirror, breathing hard as she wills herself to keep looking.

_She’s not the same person she was 25 years ago._

No one is, right? But when she looks back across the long road behind her, she sees how much she has changed. Work has changed her. The victims have changed her. The perpetrators have changed her. She’s stronger. Harder. Softer.

Noah changed her yet again, made her into a mother, made her love something more than she ever had before.

And Rafael … he pushed her to be better, forced her to meet him eye to eye, toe to toe. And she pushed him. To be kinder, to think differently, to let her in. And she changed him. And now he … knows her almost better than she knows herself.

Almost. Because there are still things she hasn’t been able to admit, even to him.

Like how having her work life, home life, and love life all coming together at once in that entryway, far from filling her with comfort, just reminded her of how much she had to lose. Like how, it turns out, the fear of losing things is still enough to make her push them away.

She had thought she was braver than that.

She  _is_  braver than that. She looks her reflection in the eye and wills it to be true.

Taking a good hard look at yourself is no mean feat.

 

It’s Sunday morning in Rafael’s hotel room. He’s been working almost non-stop since he got home yesterday, and though he’s comfortably dressed in jeans and a hoodie he’s clean shaven and prepped – this is what he does when he wants a distraction. The work is helping (to a point), which is not to say he hasn’t had to wrestle his mind back every now and then from the other night. In fact, whenever he loses concentration he’s right back there, in her bed, in her arms … in her apartment as she says she wants a few days to think.

Several times he picks up his phone and puts it straight back down again.

She wants space. He can’t  _not_  give it to her. He can't deny her anything.

But it’s harder than he expected to not doing anything. Scratch that. It’s hard to actively do  _nothing_. He’s spent most of his life thinking his way out of things.

But she wants space.

He wavers between anger and panic, frustration and self-loathing. It’s hard not to chastise himself for thinking it could all work out. Because her scent is in his memory now. The touch of her skin, the feel of her warm weight pressed up against him. And his body is rebelling hard against the possibility of letting it all slip through his fingers.

He shakes his head sharply and forces his attention back to the papers in front of him. For a while he is successful, and when it comes the knock on his door is unwelcome – he doesn’t like being interrupted. He’s frowning slightly when he opens it, but when he sees her standing there he blinks in surprise. There is a beat as he tries to think of what to say.

“Jury’s back early.”

She gives him a look and he nods, conceding – it was an asshole thing to say, a reflex. He stands back to let her in, every nerve in his body on alert.

“I know I’m barging in on you–” she begins.

“It’s ok,” he says quickly, closing the door behind her. His racing mind has decided that her being here could easily be a good or a bad thing, and he’s bracing himself for the latter.

“I just came to say …” she takes a deep breath, “… that you were right.”

Again, she has surprised him. “And me without my dictaphone.” That, at least, gets her to smile a little.

He sees her plant her feet, raise her eyes to his. 

“The other night was not nothing.” It comes out in a sigh, as though she's been holding it in. She smiles. “Of course it wasn’t. It was … wonderful. More than wonderful.” He bites down a smile, watching her intently. “And I thought I was handling it, but … suddenly you and Amanda and Noah were all there in the same room, and …” she lifts her arms, lets them drop. “I freaked.”

He gives her a small smile. “Only a little.”

She looks at him. “I’m so sorry about what I said.”

He shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, I shouldn’t have–”

“I shouldn’t have stayed so long–”

“Well I wasn’t exactly pushing you away …”

Their glances collide for a moment, remembering.

He makes an effort to look away, walks slowly over to the couch and leans against the back of it. After a beat he says, “I know you’re trying to protect your family. I know I didn’t help matters by disappearing.”

She opens her mouth, possibly to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop her. She can see his jaw working hard to keep something at bay. The silences stretches between them, but before she can break it, he speaks.

“Before the Householder case …” He stops, sighs, rallies. “I think I’d started to imagine in the back of my mind that if I wasn’t working for the DA I could … that something could change between us. But the way it happened I … I just couldn’t …”

“I know,” she says softly. And now, looking at him, she really does understand. That case left him hollowed out and traumatised. Confessing any life-altering truths at that point had been out of the question.

But something is gnawing at her, deep in her gut, and she might as well get it out now.

“Can I–?”

“Anything.” He’s already waiting.

She can’t help a brief smile. “It’s just … if you felt that way back then, why …” she swallows, and now it comes to it she doesn’t really want to voice such a selfish thought.

“Why what?”

It’s the look in his eyes that does it, that look that makes her trust him with everything.

“Why did you stay away so long?”

He stares at her. “You think I was mad at you?”

She feels foolish. “No. I don’t – I don’t know.”

He stands up and looks as if he wants to cross the room towards her, but something is stopping him. “It wasn’t you,” he says, sounding anguished. “It was me. I felt …” He swallows, clenches and unclenches his fists, takes a deep breath and fixes her with sad eyes. “I felt like I failed you, Liv.”

She gapes at him, and it’s a full five seconds of silence before she can say anything. “What?”

He lets his shoulders rise and fall in a helpless shrug. “You’ve spent 25 years going through the worst of humanity, fighting to push water uphill, and you still manage to keep it all together” – he makes a half-hearted attempt at a smirk – “relatively speaking. But I … couldn’t. I couldn’t keep things separate, I couldn’t adhere to the law  _and_  help the victims. And after I left one of the reasons I couldn’t bear to come back and face you was because …” He gives a mirthless laugh. “Because I was embarrassed. That you could do the job and I couldn’t.”

Her heart breaks a little. She steps closer to him, grabs his hand. “Rafa, I’m so sorry that you ever thought that. It’s not true, not for a moment. You talk about pushing water uphill …  _you_  were fighting against impossible odds every day. I didn’t have the burden of balancing the law and justice – that was your job, and you did it better than anyone I’ve ever worked with.” He looks away but she reaches out to his face and forces him to look at her. “I mean it. I just wish I had realised what you were going through. If I'd read the signs properly. If I’d just stepped in –”

“If …” he’s smiling at her.

She exhales heavily, and drops her hands. He’s right. If you let them, the “ifs” can drag you down. But then some things are easier said than done. Trying to steady her own thoughts, maybe to hide the regret she knows must still show in her face, she turns away and takes a few aimless steps about the room.

He’s watching her. “Liv,” he says slowly. “I want Noah to be safe.”

It gets her right in the heart, and he’s not the only one fighting emotions now. “I know you do,” she says softly, turning halfway back to him, but suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “But to be absolutely, brutally honest … I think I’m more worried about me than I am about him.”

And here it is now, the truth, the crux of it all.

Tearing up a little, she begins, “When you left last time …”

“I’m so sorry –” he tries to interrupt, looking agonised, but she shakes her head.

“No, I’m not blaming you. I understand why. I just mean it was hard enough back then, before. Now …” Her voice trembles. “Rafa, if I lost you–”

He immediately crosses to her and folds her into a tight hug, which she leans into gratefully. She lets out a long breath and he feels her relax against him. “You won’t lose me,” he says firmly into her hair. “No matter what.”

She gives a wry, watery laugh. “Other people have said that before …”

He pulls back and looks at her. “I’m not other people,” he says simply. “We’re friends. Always.” He’s so certain, so sure of himself that … she believes him. He takes a deep breath and releases her, but can’t let go of her arms. “What do  _you_  want?” he asks softly.

She looks at him for a beat. “I’ve been thinking about that, and … there’s one thing I can’t get away from …”

He swallows, his gaze fixed intently on her.

Finally, she says, “I want you. I want us.”

His face breaks into a smile so wide that she can’t help but laugh – he grabs her into a hug, then pulls back to look into her face, still a question in his eyes. “You’re sure?”

She’s grinning. “I’m sure.”

He kisses her, properly, slightly indecently, both of them smiling against each other’s mouths, his hands in her hair, her fingers resting on his jawline. When they part he exhales long and slow and shaky, dipping his forehead to rest against her collarbone.

“Don’t tell me you were nervous, counsellor?” she teases softly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. He laughs, completely exposed and not caring one bit. She loves it. “Listen, I came over to ask-”

“Anything,” he interrupts, looking up, eyes still alight and grinning.

She laughs. “How would you like to come with Noah and me to get waffles?”

His brow furrows. “Waffles.”

She grins. “Yeah, for some reason he won’t stop talking about getting waffles with Rafa. So,” she reaches up to brush his hair with her fingertips, his eyes slip shut. “You coming?”

He laughs. “Right now?”

She tugs gently on the collar of his hoodie, bringing herself a little closer. Raises an eyebrow. “You got somewhere better to be?”

He’s smiling again from ear to ear, marvelling at her. “I really don’t.”

She leans in a little, kisses him softly, pulls back to smile at him. “So come on.” She takes his hand and leads him out of the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's it for now. I can't promise I won't want to reopen it one day, but for now I'm calling this one complete.
> 
> I can't thank all of you enough for reading, and especially those who commented! It means an awful lot!
> 
> Finally, I love these characters. They are not mine, but oh how I wish they were.


End file.
